Page 171 of Primal

He sighs. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

“Awesome,” Wesley mutters. “Love the pressure.”

A soft click from above. “Okay. Here we go. Five … four … three … two …”

Kade closes his eyes, his hand gripping mine.

“One.”

No boom. Everything’s gone quiet.

My chest seizes. I slide into Kade’s lap, bury my face in the curve of his neck.

He says nothing, but I feel it all the same—the slow slide of his palm up my back, the sweep of his thumb against my cheek.

You didn’t lose me.

“Christ,” Wesley says from somewhere above. “Worst Hallmark movie ever. Is this the part where you confess your love?”

He hops down from the chair.

We made it. Not without Wesley.

I pull him into a hug.

“Good job,” Kade mutters. “I take back two of the horrible things I said about you.”

“Uh, which two?”

I scowl at Kade. “You’re bleeding out and still making jokes?”

“Helps me ignore the part where my intestines feel like soup.”

Wesley clears his throat. “Don’t freak out. The timer was actually at one minute, forty-nine seconds.”

I sag against the desk.

The laptop’s dead now. But the racks are still humming. When the cops show up, the owners, Derek—every last bastard who let this happen—will pay.

“Okay.” Wesley rakes a hand through his rain-soaked hair. “Time to get the fuck out of here before karma catches up.”

“Wait. The access key.”

I yank the drawers open one by one. Pens. Zip-ties. Sticky old candy wrappers.

No key.

Kade murmurs, “Check the wall panel.”

I do. Nothing.

That’s when it hits me—hard and sick and certain.

“Derek …”

He left this room with blood on his hands and the only way out in his pocket.

Wesley groans. “Then we wait at the gates until someone shows up.”